How To Solve A Noise Problem In New York City

By Paul Farrell

"How To Solve A Noise Problem In New York City" is a true story about solving a 'quality of life' problem with a noisy neighbor. The neighbor is a group of veterans from an American Legion post. It's about conflict resolution, anger management, gun control and how to get things done when battling arrogance, detached government and neighborhood fascism.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Farrell
• Release date: Feb 27, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452321868

Paul Farrell

Paul’s previous writing history consists of a children’s fantasy adventure book, Dragon Slayers. He is currently working on its sequel. His wider portfolio also consists of plays, radio, comedy and film scripts.

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How To Solve A Noise Problem In New York City

Paul J. Farrell

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 by Paul J. Farrell

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If your reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

How To Solve A Noise Problem In New York City

Special Notes

If the satirist is going to take potshots at everything that has a lot of power and prestige he has to watch out how he does it. People of importance don't like being shown up as fools, scoundrels or fakers and they're apt to have ways of making their resentment felt.

A Treasury Of Satire by Edgar Johnson.

The book you are about to read is a true story written as a fictional prose narrative novel. It is what many would call a 'true novel'. It's a story told on how to solve a noise or 'quality of life' problem with a neighbor in New York City. The neighbor in the story is a group of veterans and an American Legion post. It's a story about conflict resolution, anger management, gun control, and how to get things done when battling arrogance, indifferent government, and neighborhood fascism. Several literary tricks have been unsuccessfully used writing this unmasking of hypocrisy such as artificial names, false locations, and inaccurate dates to protect both the innocent and the guilty parties. This failure is not the fault of the author.

Chapter 1

Sunrise

And on the eighth day, the very first second Monday, the sun rose, God awoke, and made the American Legion.

There are almost three million members located at 15,000 community level posts scattered throughout the United States. These wartime veterans, the direct descendants of Adam and Eve and the very first quarrel, are dedicated to traditional American values, strong national security, adequate and compassionate care for veterans, their widows and orphans, community service, the wholesome development of our nation’s yutes, cheap drinks and loud parties.

Membership in the America Legion also includes the male descendants of veterans who have never served in the military, but are still eligible to become a member, and they are known as the Sons of the American Legion, who may one day serve, but not right now while there’s a war going on. All members swear, just like Senators and Congressmen and tramp stamped tattooed women along with some truck drivers, to uphold and defend the Constitution of the United States. Legionaries also swear to maintain law and order, foster and perpetuate a true spirit of Americanism and preserve the memories of former members and their forefathers in the Great Wars. And when not swearing, drinking and complaining, they inculcate a sense of individual obligation to the community, state and nation. They unknowingly combat the autocracy of both the classes and masses and, as a group they are more powerful than a locomotive. They make right the master of might, and they promote peace and good will in very selective locations on earth. They safeguard and transmit to posterity the principles of justice, freedom and democracy. They consecrate and sanctify their friendship by their devotion to mutual helpfulness and adopt in letter and spirit all the great principles for which the American Legion stands. They do a hell of a lot of stuff, and they assist in carrying on as their slogan says; For God and Country.

And let us pray; Forgive O Lord, my little jokes on Thee and I’ll forgive Thy great big one on me. Robert Frost.

The Family Next Door

Most people have a neighbor. The distance between them in communities varies, some are close and others are far, both in location and in what it means to be a neighbor. American Legion Post 2.53 had a neighbor located about fifty feet away. It was a neighbor in location only. Neighbors such as the American Legion are the reason why people put up fences, and sometimes eventually, either move away, end up in jail or stay and write a poem about the fence.

The Legion’s neighbor’s house was a small wooden single story bungalow built in the 1920's. It was located on a 25'x100' lot on top of a little hill. It didn’t have a sidewalk or a driveway and access to the road was down a long steep flight of crumbling concrete stairs. It was used as a summer home in the past and today it was a full time home with a full time family. The roof ridge was tired and sagged, and puddles formed after it rained on the flat part at the back of the house, but it didn’t leak. It wasn’t insulated, not even with old newspapers. Most of the windows didn’t open. They were welded to their frames with layers of paint. Electrical outlets were few and never located where needed.

Down the narrow hallway from the kitchen, past the closet size bathroom and just off the dining room was the rear foyer that contained the refrigerator. It wasn’t there because of the lack of outlets in the kitchen, it was there because it wouldn’t fit with the stove and the sink along with the cook all at the same time. There was no room for the refrigerator in the kitchen.

Regardless of where the refrigerator was located, it was home to a family of four, just the right number, and fortunately, the right sizes for the dining room, two big and two little people. They were a traditional family made up of a father, who was a man, and a mother who wasn’t a man but was a woman, and they were, according to tradition, married. They had two kids that were made in the traditional manner; a little girl about eight years old and a smaller little girl about four years old. The kids had a dog and two fish who lived in a mayonnaise jar. Head of the household was the husband, and he was a schoolteacher. He played golf, walked the dog and picked up the results. His wife was a housewife and she cooked and cleaned, cared for the kids, paid the bills and the taxes and then sat down and had a beer. The kids went to school, did homework, played with and petted the dog and sometimes fed the fish, right up until the day they both floated belly up. None of these family members were veterans or the male descendant of a veteran. They were just regular people; the indirect descendants of Adam and Eve, nobody special, except for the two little girls, who were being taught by their parents right and wrong, good and bad, with explanations as to why.

For The Party’s Sake

American Legion Post 2.53 was located in a two story brick building built in 1990 on a 100x100' lot located in a residential area of one and two family homes, and not only did it have a 4" thick concrete sidewalk and a driveway, it also had a parking lot. It had a full basement and an elevator. There was a commercial size kitchen with a huge stainless steel refrigerator, a monstrous stainless steel stove with enormous burners, an oversize double stainless steel sink, and a ten foot long, thirty inch wide cutting board type table with an uncountable number of pots and pans hanging above, and there was enough room left over for as many cooks as needed to prepare for the veterans a pot-full of SOS and for the dishwashers and food handlers to clean up the mess all at the same time. It was big!

The place had a twenty foot long half-a-swastika-shaped bar with lots of glasses and plenty of liquor and wine, and it had an ice maker. They had boxes and bags of salty potato chips and salty pretzels and salty peanuts to go with the kegs of beer. And they had a big jar of Marichino cherries. There was a pool table and a fireplace, and they had both cable and satellite TV and a jukebox and a stereo. They had two bathrooms, one for males and one for females, and everybody drank beer and wine and liquor, and kids drank Shirley Temples with two cherries and a swizzle stick. They had just about everything one could imagine in the perfect clubhouse. They all used very salty language when they spoke. And the bartender wiped up the dirty bar with red, white and blue striped bar rags that dripped with patriotism.

Their roof was flat and straight and strong, with no puddles. It held a giant air-conditioner, a big exhaust blower for the kitchen, a satellite dish and a bunch of micro-wave antennas for cell phones from which they made a pretty penny from the rent, which helped pay their utility bills. They paid no taxes on the 100'x100' lot or their million dollar building, because the American Legion is a charitable organization and tax exempt. They weren’t just regular people, they were something special, but not like kids; they were special because they were not only veterans, but veterans that were concerned with human welfare and the alleviation of suffering. Their building was well insulated both politically and from the elements of hot and cold, and they had hundreds of electrical outlets, and they liked to have parties. They had parties for God and parties for their Country and parties to spread peace and good will throughout the community, state and nation, and parties to perpetuate the true spirit of stentorial Americanism.

The second floor was twice the size as their neighbor’s house, and they rented this big room to anyone who wanted to have a party. It was another way to make some easy money along with the profits from selling drinks which all helped to pay the bills, and possibly line a few pockets. After all, this was a charitable organization. And where does charity first begin?

Saturday night was party night. It usually began about 8 o’clock and ended at 1 or 2 am, and they were loud, really loud. The windows and doors were left open to vent the room of cigarette smoke and the odor of sweaty dancing bodies and spilt drinks. It was cheaper this way than running the air-conditioner. The parties were unsupervised and left on their own to make as much noise as they pleased, and the DJ made good use of his electronic sound machine and eight foot high speakers to vibrate the bricks and rattle the windows in the building. Add a cowbell and some garbage can covers and the place was really jumping. There was very little maintaining of law and order on party night, but they did their best to transmit to posterity their principles of freedom and democracy by doing whatever they damned pleased.

Everyone was happy, the Legionnaires made some money, and the people at the party had a real good time. It was mutual helpfulness at its best. For those five or six hours, no one else existed in their world... their world of loud, louder and loudest.

Quiet, Please

Other people did exist. Fifty feet away were two little kids that couldn’t sleep in their own little bedroom which was directly facing the big open windows of American Legion Post 2.53. There were some trees on the empty lot between the two buildings, but they weren’t dense enough to stop the sound waves vibrating the eardrums of those two little girls and causing ripples on the water’s surface in the mayonnaise jar.

After several noisy parties, their mom finally went over to this Legion post one night because, once again, her family couldn’t sleep with all the loud music and noise. It was safer for a woman to go into the bar and make a complaint than for her husband, who would probably encounter some drunk, who once killed a hundred or so North Vietnamese when he was over in ‘the Nam’ fighting the commies and ‘the Cong’ with Oliver Stone. And that was with his bare hands, no telling how many he killed with his M-16 and from calling in air strikes and artillery on the swarms that once attacked his unit’s perimeter up at the DMZ, or was it down in the Mekong Delta or somewhere over in the Central Highlands. Sometimes these Viet Vets forget where it was they was in ‘the Nam’. Bullcrap and lies are always difficult to remember, none the less, facts are facts.

In her robe and pajamas she entered the hall of heroes and asked these trained killers to please turn down the volume so her two little girls could go to sleep, and even though this woman’s daughters weren’t orphans of a veteran and were way to young to be the widows of a veteran, they graciously complied and had the volume turned down. And with a wet eye they said, We’re sorry, and We didn’t realize it was so loud, and We promise it wouldn’t ever happen again, and We’re really sorry ma’am, it must be the ‘licka’ we drink to drown the awful ‘mummeries’ of the big war. It wasn’t really a big war, it was more like a long war, and it wasn’t even close to being a Great War. What war is?

For a very brief time right became the master of might but twenty minutes later might forgot all about right and the volume went up, and things were back to normal at Post 2.53. By the following weekend, the memory of that woman’s request for some quiet so her kids could sleep would be lost in the drug and alcohol saturated grey matter inside the heads of those who ran the joint. The loud parties would go on for ten years. We’re really sorry ma’am. If they only knew how much truth was in that statement.

Sons of Bachelors

Their burglar alarm went off about nine o’clock Sunday morning. One of the members set it off since all the neighborhood thieves were home in bed resting peacefully. He was there to clean up the mess on the second floor after last night’s party and didn’t know how to shut it off. It was loud, louder than any car alarm. It had to be the loudest burglar alarm on the market and designed especially for Post 2.53. It actually hurt your ears while standing in front of the building. These s.o.b.’s would keep people awake at night and then wake them up in the morning with more of their Americanism.

When I entered the building the clean-up-guy was on the phone trying to get someone to explain how to shut off the alarm. I yelled into his unoccupied ear asking him to please do something about the noise. How could I tell him about last nights party with all this goddamn racket. At the control panel he punched in some numbers and Sunday morning once again became what every normal Sunday morning is throughout the world and how it ought to be.

Man, that’s really loud, he said with a nervous little laugh. He forgot to disarm the alarm when he came in. It slipped his mind. This wasn’t the first time it happened and it wouldn’t be the last. Something was always slipping out of the mind of a Legionnaire never to be replaced. That alarm would go off at all different hours. The noise from last nights party didn’t seem to be all that loud or important after listening to that alarm for ten very long minutes. I told him about last night’s noisy party. He shrugged his shoulders and told me there’s nothing he could do, and he wasn’t in charge of the place. I told him about the family next door. Hey, what can I tell you, these guys like to party he said.

Wringing his neck and hanging him by his feet from the flagpole out front would give temporary satisfaction, but would it be worth it? Something inside me kept saying Yes, yes, yes! But I decided it best to accept his brush-off, one of many more to come.

The Sounds Of Music

I’m not sure how many years of practice it takes to become proficient in playing an air-guitar, but after viewing the people who do play one of these instruments I’m sure it doesn’t take all that long. If the music is blasting anyone with or without an imagination and half-a-brain or even less, can pick up an imaginary guitar and become an instant string picking tuney-twanger. The most important thing to remember about playing air-rock music with an air-guitar and nourishing the spirit with this fast food for the soulless is to use both hands. Something any air-head could do, but only if he concentrates real hard and puts his or her mind to it. The best of the best who play non-existent musical instruments can go on to the U.S. Air Guitar Championships where just recently a Brooklyn woman caught her fourth toe of her right foot in a folding chair and nearly ripped it off. She continued to perform flawlessly while her toe, held on by a broken bone and a flap of skin, flopped around. Her foot bled all over the stage and doctors later amputated the toe. It’s not a very pleasant story but it does show how dedicated some people are to popular music and what I was going to be up against in dealing with the American Legion and their music.

President Noriega took refuge in the Vatican embassy when the U.S. ran him out of Panama in the late 1980's. The Army’s PSYOP unit was brought in with loudspeakers or ghetto blasters similar to the one’s used at the Legion parties, to play mind-numbing music to drive the President out of the embassy building. They played just regular popular music such as Were Not Going To Take It’ by Twisted Sister and other top 100 hits from Billboard; The Party’s Over, Your Time Has Come, Nowhere To Run, Gonna Tear Your Playhouse Down, and If I Had A Rocket Launcher. It was later revealed that the loud music wasn’t for harassing Noriega, it was for the press to prevent them from listening in on the negotiations going on inside the building with their parabolic microphones and dishes. Modern pop music’s utility was now in squelching.

If one is not talented enough or lacks the ambition and dedication to play air guitar then imitation microphone singing is another delusional rock ‘n roll activity in which to share one’s loud and meaningful inner life with friends. It only requires the use of one hand, but an ability to show many different and troubling feelings through facial expressions, lip pursing and puckering; hip pumping and gyrating along with prancing and dancing in place is essential. An intense, unhealthy study of silky scarf wearing, fantasy fakeup faced men such as Mick Jagger, Boy George, Prince and Michael Jackson, once beautifully described as a glamour monkey, will put the ‘desperate for attention’ on the road to being looked at and admired by their most superficial friends. Imaginary microphone singing requires a strong belief in misguided dreams of fame and wealth, and a willingness to gulp heartily from the flowing rock lyric springs of sewage that pours forth the rich verbal displays of wordy mumbled and confused advice on free sexual expression, drug use and the wisdom born from the naivete and inexperience of youth, who pretend to know, but don’t. And Finland leads all countries in the Air Guitar World Championships with five gold medals and six silver. The Fins have all five toes per foot.

Coming Home

The open space between the wooden summer bungalow with swayback roof and the two story wolf wind-proof brick building supported on a solid concrete foundation with a roof held up by Hercules was my piece of heaven, or hell, depending on how one looks at the world. I owned that 50'x100' lot. The most enjoyable thing for someone who likes to build is to have a piece of land that’s paid for and enough money for materials, and enough time to stop whatever he’s been doing for other people, and build his own home from the foundation up. And that’s exactly what I was going to do.

It was said that no one in their right mind would invest all their money in building a house next door to this noisy, obnoxious and arrogant American Legion post. It did have a reputation, but builders like to clear the land and knock things down and build things up along with knocking some of the high and mighty off their high horse.

The Legionnaires allowed me to use their water and electric while building, which was a neighborly thing to do, and for a moment I believed this was the beginning of an act that would consecrate and sanctify our friendship. They even asked me to join and I did, as a veteran I was one of them. The dues money would contribute paying for any further water and electric I would use. Maybe this noise problem could be solved in a reasonable manner after all.

It wasn’t long before there were grumbles among the membership for more money. I happily paid them for their mutual helpfulness and good will.

People asked, "You really building your house next to this place? Soon after I moved in I’d find out first hand what it was like to be abused by the members of American Legion Post 2.53, just like the family living in the summer bungalow next door, the schoolteacher, his wife and their two little girls.

Hearts And Minds

Whenever two people come together a law is usually needed. The law lets people know what they can get away with in the world. Adam and Eve had their do’s and don’ts, and Matthew wrote about it later in 22:37-40. I had no idea what the law said about inconsiderate people who played their loud music and noise inside another person’s home preventing that person from reading, or watching TV, or sleeping. I would think that such a law would not be necessary in America where right was the master of might.

My neighbor thought my house would help block the music and noise but it didn’t; the upstairs windows were still directly in line with her home. After the last very loud party we discussed what could be done about this problem. We could call the cops, but nobody really wants to do that, and this was a veteran’s organization and we wouldn’t get much of a response. Besides, even if they did come, what would they do? Shake their finger at them and tell them to turn it down. And as soon as they left, things would go right back to normal. We understood the game. It would be a never ending battle. We would be on the phone all night every weekend they had a party. The politicians wouldn’t touch this place either, and the Legionnaires know it. There really wasn’t much we could do but go through the motions and complain to deaf ears. Why bother? As a member I’d try to reason with these veterans once again. Maybe I’ll bring up the subjects of maintaining law and order and the principles of justice and the promoting of peace and good will not only on earth but also on Longstreet Avenue.

[Never was I so depressed as upon that day; with my knowledge of the situation, I could see the desperate and hopeless nature of the charge and the cruel slaughter it would cause. General James Longstreet at Gettysburg.]

The parties continued, the loud vibrating base continued, the unintelligible voice of the DJ riling up the crowd continued, and the beating of the cowbell continued until one and two and three in the morning. For two years I would experience the abuse of these veterans along with the family next door who were on their eighth year, they were truly veterans, unlike the heartless veterans of Post 2.53 who would be best described as nothing more than a handful of mindless pricks.

Good Press

It was going to be almost impossible to deal with this group, they were embedded in the community and as veterans, they could do no wrong. One could always find an article about the Post 2.53 in the local newspaper.

Just before Thanksgiving, the anonymously donated turkey dinners would arrive in an eighteen-wheeler that had to back down the block to the Legion hall with its cargo of 300 turkey dinners. They would be distributed to other veteran’s organizations and shelters so those returning troops who just returned from battle and the homeless would have a decent meal on that special holiday. That’s what the paper said along with the Hallmarxian sentimental words spoken by the vets themselves; The Christmas and holiday season are a time for sharing and counting one’s blessings, said Detonator. We are happy to be able to give something back to those in need, explained Tripwire. As veterans, we know about difficult times and we are grateful for the opportunity to spread cheer; solemnly added Menace, and We should help people less fortunate, not just during the holiday season, but throughout the year, shared Tic-Toc.

There was no mention of turning down the volume to the DJ's sound equipment on Saturday nights so a couple of kids could sleep in their own home, or of showing some common courtesy to their veteran neighbor. We weren’t included in the sharing of cheer, not even for the holidays.

An anonymous vet, named Bobby Bullet, who worked in the Bronx VA hospital said; Giving back to the community as well as these soldiers is the most rewarding thing I’ve done since fighting in Vietnam. What a nice guy! And what a life! And off they went after loading up their cars to taxi the turkeys to the needy. Another good deed done for others, elsewhere.

Christmas would be the next newspaper article. They were collecting toys for unfortunate kids from local businesses and from just about anyone that had a toy they wanted to get rid of. The peace loving social consciousness raising veterans emphasized they would not accept any toy guns. These veterans don’t like guns. They didn’t say anything about swords and knives or whether or not those spaceman type of ray-guns were acceptable. Guns were bad, and no child should be exposed to these instruments that brought about the freedom of millions from under the thumb of tyrants. Violent video games were also banned because they enforced negative subjects, said Karate Ken. The Bronx Toys for Bronx Children toy drive would have no part in corrupting our nations yutes. And another Christmas season would go by, and those two kids next door would once again be left out of Post 2.53's good will and holiday cheer. But they did get to listen to the American Legion’s ghetto blaster and another noisy Christmas party.

The American Legion Post 2.53 is looking to make soldier’s lives a little easier and is asking the community to help, said Wendy the Marine. It was the beginning of their care package drive for the troops overseas. They were collecting dried goods, toiletries, international calling cards, DVDs, non-scented insect spray, socks, baby wipes and hard candies for children along with money to pay for the postage. After the packages were sent out and they got a few thankful replies from the soldiers overseas, Legionnaire Tracer said, It was a wonderful feeling to know that they have touched someone and helped make a difference in someone’s life. All the way over in Iraq and Afghanistan they were spreading peace and good will and toiletries and hard candy for kids. And as their neighbors, we really felt kinda left out. But there was always hope with the spirit of Christmas.

Another newspaper article shown a patriotic photo of the post’s vet Bobby Bullet on a stage with a bunch of grammar school kids from a local public school. He was there teaching these kids and helping them to understand the values of being an American. It was a special veterans event. They wrote and read essays about America, veterans, and the freedom they enjoy. The picture said a thousand words. These veterans liked little kids. And they taught them that America is all about freedom, and veterans were those very special people who had sacrificed, fought and died to preserve those freedoms, especially that most precious of all our freedoms; the one the members of Post 2.53 take pride in defending; the freedom to do whatever they please and to do it whenever they please. These young children were going to be taught what exactly they can get away with by very experienced and highly trained veterans, and also what is most dear to American culture and the Legionnaires... stentoriousness. It’s something they indirectly teach their neighbor’s kids whenever they have a party at Post 2.53.

The American Legion Riders Association also gets its plug in the same paper. They participate in the Annual Support Our Troops and Veterans Motorcycle Run that is basically a motorcycle ride from point A to point B. At point B there are a few speeches made with a wreath placing and then an After Run Party at some saloon with food, music and door prizes.

Basically, they are a refined motorcycle gang made up of guys who once served in the military and now like to dress up in black leather pants and vest or motorcycle jacket with the logo 'Legion Rider' displayed on their back in big gold letters spelled out over a splayed out and lifeless dead eagle. They also have outings that are defined with very long names, such as; The Ninth Semi-Annual Spring-Fest Support Our Troops And Veteran Association Support Groups Of Greater And Lesser New York and Beyond, Big Wheel Party and Speeches Motorcycle Run. Sometimes they have meetings at Post 2.53. Afterward about 11pm or midnight, they sit on their bikes in front of the building and have a little loud conversation over the roar of the engines while their bikes are warming up, occasionally cracking open the throttle. Then they roar down the block setting off car alarms and getting the neighbor’s dogs barking. Some people on the block have to get up early the next day and either go to work or school, but that’s not any concern of the American Legion Riders Association. It’s also something that will never be printed in the local paper along with the post’s loud parties... and there will never be any mention of the two little girls next door.

Chapter 2

Sociability

Teen Night; no where in America has anyone ever been successful with what is known as Teen Night. It’s a night that runs amuck. The local paper wrote an article about American Legion Post 2.53 and what would be its futile attempt in the wholesome development of our nations yutes. It was unbelievable, first it was the corruption of grammar school kids and now it was going to be teenagers. Friday night would be Teen Night at the Post. That would mean that on both Friday and Saturday nights we would be subject to both their loud noise and music and god only knows what else. Teens on Friday and grown-ups on Saturday. But unlike grammar schoolers, who are easily propagandized, these veterans would now meet their match.

The newspaper article also mentioned Club Corony. It described their bar as having a lounge-like atmosphere with tables and leather couch and club lights, to put you in the lounge mood. These bar rags were getting ready to expand this joint from a lodge to a catering hall with a full time public open bar for lounge lizards. Those green skinned things with long tails and sticky tongues that eat flies. But at whose expense? Their parking lot only held a half-a-dozen cars. Where would all their new customers park? It